The Curse Breaker Who Loved Me
by one.twilight.sun
Summary: Bill Weasley of the Burrow Weasleys is in need of a wife: a beautiful, sweet, utterly unlovable wife.  If Gabrielle Delacour is exactly who he needs then why is it her older sister, Fleur, who catches his attention? Based on Julia Quinn's Bridgerton series
1. In Which Bill Meets Babbling Belinda

**The Curse-Breaker Who Loved Me**

"**In Which Bill Meets Babbling Belinda"**

William Arthur Weasley found out at the age of six that he was going to die before he was thirty.

His mother, Molly, had taken him and his little baby brother, Charlie, to Diagon Alley with her as she'd had some errands to run in the wizard shopping area. William, otherwise known as Bill, had been reluctant to go in the first place, complaining loudly to his mother that it was boring and he'd have nothing to do. In response, his mother had exasperatingly told him to mind his little brother.

So Bill found himself seated at a small ice cream table at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor trying to get a bite of the brownie sundae his mum had purchased before Charlie threw the last spoonful on the ground to join the previous five spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce. His mum was busy chatting with Florean at the counter to notice that the baby was making a right mess of things and Bill was getting frustrated. He hadn't even gotten one sweet and delicious bite yet!

Sitting on his knees and leaning halfway across the table, he stretched with his spoon to dip it into the golden bowl that had somehow made its home right next to the happily slobbering two-year-old. Charlie had some brownie crumbs in his ginger hair and ice cream all over his mouth and was waving his spoon just as they'd seen Mummy do it but with messier results. Just as the tip of his spoon touched the edge of the bowl, Charlie gave one great flourish with his spoon and knocked the bowl over, sending the rest of the sundae to the floor in a great golden bowl, brownie, ice cream and sauce catastrophe.

The boys stared at the destruction with wide eyes, watching the bowl make one final round until it stilled face down on the floor.

"Bill!" His mother's voice crashed through the silence. He looked up to see his mother slowly advancing on him, hindered only a little by her pregnant belly, anger clear in her brown eyes.

He shot straight out of his chair, hands going up in the immediate motion of surrender (he'd seen it in one of those Muggle movies his dad had snuck him to once). "It wasn't me! It was Charlie!" He pointed an accusing finger at the giggling baby.

She stopped in front of him, one finger wagging sternly in his face. "You were supposed to watching him, Bill! You're the older brother and supposed to be responsible!"

He wanted to make a disgusted face at that word: "responsible". He was always the responsible one. Well, sometimes, he couldn't _always _be the responsible one, especially when it _wasn't his fault!_

He didn't say anything though, just glared up in defiance at his mum and then looked at his brother who still seemed to think that there was nothing wrong and was now taking the remaining ice cream spill on the table and spreading it across his cheeks.

He could feel his face getting hot. He hated it when his mum yelled at him. "It wasn't my fault!" His fists clenched and he felt an angry yell building up in his chest.

Molly had whisked her wand out to clean up the mess on the floor and had produced a kerchief from somewhere in her purse, using it liberally on the now squirming Charlie. "Don't argue with me, Bill Weasley. We'll take this up at home," her voice was stern.

"No, we won't! Because I'm not going home!" He stamped his foot for good measure, turned and ran out the door, ignoring his mum's calls behind him.

He ran blindly through the Alley, pushing past the other pedestrians, not caring where he was going. He could feel hot angry tears running down his face and he swiped at them.

Ever since Charlie had been born, Bill felt like he'd been relegated to the background. His mom never had time for him anymore. When he tried to climb up on her lap, he'd find Charlie already there. It was always Bill who would be in the wrong, just because he was older.

So caught up was he in his thoughts that he didn't notice the wizened old woman until it was too late.

A gnarled hand reached out from nowhere and took hold of the young boy's arm, wrenching him to a stop and pulled him into a darkened alley. Bill fought against the hard grip but though the hand that held him was old, it was strong.

"Little Bill Weasley won't want to be saying anything right now, right? Little Bill Weasley knows better than to run, right?"

The boy froze at the hissed words. Frightened, he nodded jerkily, ginger hair flying with the force of his motion.

The grip on his arm loosened a little. "Good."

He had ended up in an alley off the main street. Trash littered the narrow street. The walls were filled with posters, most torn and tattered. The parts not filled with promotional paraphernalia was graffitied with some type of paint that changed the words every few seconds. Bill stared at one that had originally read "Blastin' Brothers" which had faded into "Rocks!" as he watched. He didn't want to find out who had taken him just yet so continued to watch the graffiti as it faded back into the original message.

The hand on his arm twisted him around and he found himself face to face with a woman who was uglier than Auntie Muriel (and that was saying something). Her face was almost all wrinkles, so old was she, and she had a wart with a single hair on the tip of her nose. Her eyes were small and reddened while her head fought to keep the few gray wisps that blew every which way. She smiled toothily at him, showcasing the crooked yellow molars and the rotting cavities where he supposed she used to have teeth. He made a promise to himself that he would always brush his teeth from this point on.

"Little Bill Weasley! How I have been waiting for you!" she proclaimed, bringing up both her wrinkly hands to squish his cheeks together. He tried not to recoil, not knowing what her reaction would be. After a moment, she dropped her hands so that she could indicate herself in a very showy fashion with one while keeping a hand on his shoulder. "I am Babbling Belinda and you have come to me to find out your future."

He thought it was best that he not point out that she had in fact dragged him over to her.

"I saw that today would come and have been waiting for six years to tell you this! Hic!" she burped loudly, not even bothering to cover her mouth.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust, leaning away from her as far as he could with her hand still on him. She reminded of how his dad had come home once and acted really funny, trying to pick up and carry his mum around the room like an airplane and then fallen on the floor because he couldn't walk straight. He'd been burping then too, loudly. Bill had found it quite hilarious until his mum had untangled herself from his father and yelled at him to go up to his room.

"Come here, boy," she said genially, tugging on his shoulder to bring him closer to her face. Before he got too close, he took one great gulp of air and held it. No way was he going to breath her in.

"You're a good lad, aren't you?" she asked in a sing-song voice. He nodded his head vigorously, hoping that agreement with this crazy lady would allow him a chance to escape quickly.

"That's sad," her eyes fell a little, "it's always the good ones that go first."

And he was frightened again. He could feel his face turning a litle purple and his head felt a bit light but he didn't want to exhale because then that meant he would have to inhale and he didn't want to breather her in. He fought the dizziness that threatened to sweep over him.

"What I—" she cut off abruptly, her hand tightening on his shoulder painfully, her claw-like nails digging into him. Her eyes had gone round and a strange light had suffused her irises, turning them a pale shade of blue. Shed brought her face an inch apart from his so he could almost see his reflection in her eyes. Bill gasped, scared, unable to help himself but not even noticing the woman's stench as she started speaking once more.

_"IN YOUR THIRTIETH YEAR, DEATH WILL MEET YOU AT ITS GATES. BEWARE THE ROSE, THOUGH IT IS SWEET, ITS THORNS WILL BE YOUR END."_

Babbling Belinda shook herself, the last of her eerily booming voice fading against the dirty walls around them. She again smiled toothily at the young boy who had gone white as a sheet at her pronouncement. "Now off you go, hup hup," her voice in its normal rasp. She turned him towards the alley entrance, giving him a little nudge when he didn't move.

Woodenly he moved to the entrance, his legs feeling awfully heavy, his head strangely blank. He looked back before he set foot in the main street. The alley was empty. Babbling Belinda had disappeared.

"There you are!" His mother's voice roused him from his stupor. He looked in the direction he'd heard it from and saw her pushing her way through the other witches and wizards, Charlie on her hip and her temper still in full steam. But as she got closer, her angry frown turned concerned and she stooped in front of him as much as her stomach would allow.

"What's wrong?" she asked, motherly anxiety coming to the fore.

He stared at her for a moment, looked at little Charlie and then at the roundness of her belly where he'd been told another little brother or sister resided. He did not need to tell her what Babbling Belinda had just told him. There was no use in her worrying now when it wouldn't do any good. He knew his mother loved him despite his earlier tantrum. But when he died, she wouldn't need to miss him, she would have plenty of other children to love.

His decision made to protect his mother from his doom, he pasted a smile on his face and replied, "I'm all right" even though he was far from it.

**Author's Note:**

**I've been wanting, for some strange reason, to have a couple of HP WIPs going. I think mainly to break up the drama that is "Bend or Break". So here you go.**

**Inspiration struck in the form of a renewed fascination with the Weasleys (which I attribute to HPFF TenthWeasley's "Growing up Weasley", something that should be read because it is SO DARN CUTE) and with my love for Julia Quinn's Bridgerton Series.**

**I'm kind of thinking about doing a series of short stories on the whole Weasley family á la Bridgerton but am not sure if my attention will hold, though I already basically planned it out for each pairing :P**

**I'm sure you can guess which Bridgerton book this story is based off of :) and if you haven't noticed it already, you will in the later chapters: there is no Voldemort.**

**As always, the world of Harry Potter and the characters and settings within belong to J.K. Rowling. The story plot is based on Julia Quinn's Bridgerton series (though it isn't exactly the same).**

**Please review! :)**


	2. In Which There is a Ball

"**In Which There is a Ball"**

*.*

_At Lady Weasley's Spring Ball last night, the most notable exciting moment, to be sure, for all the Hunting Mamas and Eligible Daughters was the appearance of the elusive Mr. Bill Weasley, almost indecently tan from his Curse-breaking work in Egypt. But, alas, he was only around for less than an hour before disappearing into the corridors of his house. One would hope that this being his twenty-eighth year, that Mr. Bill Weasley turned his eye towards matrimony…_

- _Mrs. Harriet Hortescue's Societal Observations_ in the daily edition of _The Prophet_

*.*

For most girls, tonight was a night to dance under glittering lights and laugh with your friends in your pastel colored dresses. It was a night of tart lemonade and sweet pastries. It was a night made for falling in love.

For girls like Fleur, it was a night for extreme boredom. She much preferred the quiet of her sitting room and a paint brush in her hand to that of the exalted ceilings and the chattering of London's Society.

She watched as her little sister, Gabrielle, danced in her white dress under the floating chandeliers of the Weasley ballroom. Gabi laughed at something her dance partner, one Mr. Dean Thomas, had said to her as he passed her by. The Veela blood and Gabi's excitement at being at her first London ball just made the seventeen-year-old sparkle just that much more. Fleur felt a corner of her lips tug up as she noticed the glaze come over Mr. Thomas' eyes as he looked at her sister.

Once in a while, Fleur would lament the fact that the Veela blood had seen fit to skip over the eldest of the Delacour girls, but those moments were few and far between. Her own blonde hair was not as vibrant as her sister's, tending more to fine and almost white than gold. Her blue eyes were more green than the pure sapphires of her sister's. She was too tall and not as curvy and did not seem to have the natural grace her sister had inherited. She didn't begrudge her sister's luck in her looks. She adored her little sister and was happy that at least one of them would be married off well.

"Doesn't she look so beautiful?" came a whisper from Fleur's left. Turning slightly, Fleur met the deep blue eyes of her mother. A wave of affection came over her for all that her mother had done for them these past few months. She nodded and linked her arm through hers so they could both watch Gabi win over London.

Ever since the death of their father over five years ago, Mrs. Delacour had shouldered the burden of keeping their small family alive, managing their finances so they would be able to live in their tiny house near London with enough money for food and other necessities. Fleur had tried to help in her own way with selling her own paintings. They had managed to scrape by between the both of them.

As Gabi's seventeenth birthday had approached, Apolline had been determined that her girls would have a season. They hadn't been able to do it when Fleur had turned seventeen due to being in mourning for her husband but now that Gabi was old enough, they would both have the chance to go.

Fleur had gone along with the planning, but hadn't actively participated, knowing that it wasn't really going to be about her. She was already two-and-twenty and thereby an old maid by anyone's standards, even hers, and she was fine with that. She'd go on living with her mother and painting and could be content.

She _would_ be content. Really, really content. Really, really—

Mentally cursing the small tears that seemed to sneak up on her in the most awkward moments. Fleur blinked rapidly. There was nothing to cry about. She was happy with her lot. She would be happy for her sister when she married some wealthy man who would adore Gabi and help take care of Fleur and Apolline so her poor relations wouldn't want for anything.

Her mother seemed to sense the shift in her mood and glanced at her eldest from the corner of her eye. "Are you all right?"

Fleur unhooked her arm from her mother's, still blinking, and now brought up a hand to ostensibly look for a nonexistent dust particle in her eye.

"Yes, I'm fine, Maman. Just something in my eye. I'm going to go to the washroom to check it out." Not waiting for her mother's acknowledgement she made her way through the crowd to the corridor of the Weasley House.

She remembered the afternoon her mother and Gabi had come back excited from the one shopping expedition they would be able to afford. They'd met Mrs. Molly Weasley of the Burrow Weasleys and Mrs. Weasley's daughter, Ginevra, while in the ribbon shop and had hit it off rather well. Mrs. Weasley had found out that the Delacours were new to town which had led to her extending the coveted invitation to her Spring Ball. The Delacours had managed to contain their girlish squeals until they had finally stepped over the threshold of their rented townhouse.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were well-known in London wizarding society, not only for being moderately rich, but because their family was quite large with six boys and one girl. And when they were all in one place, it was easy to see (not that anyone really mentioned this outside of private conversations in one's own home) that all were definitely from the same parents given the bright ginger hair and similar features that all the sons and the daughter shared.

The family was also well thought of. Though Fleur had come to expect some arrogance from the British wizards in the ten years since her father had moved the family to England, she had heard about and had tonight had the chance to experience firsthand, the Weasley kindness and generosity.

Mrs. Weasley had personally greeted Fleur's family at the door, speaking to her mother like they were already dear old friends. She'd waved down one of her many sons, a Mr. Charles Weasley, to escort them into the ballroom and give them a quick tour. Mr. Weasley—_oh, posh, there were far too many of them to go by polite address in my own head_—Charles had been amiable and friendly and Fleur had instantly felt at ease. She could see that her sister and mother felt the same way.

Charles had politely asked both Fleur and Gabrielle for a spot on their dance cards. Gabi had instantly agreed, blushing prettily while Fleur had only smiled, knowing that he couldn't have only asked Gabi in front of her. Charles had gone off to speak to some other friends after ensuring all three ladies had any needed refreshments.

Mrs. Delacour had commented on his gentlemanly behavior, dropping some obvious hints to Gabi to set her cap, hints which the younger woman had ignored. Just an hour into the ball, there had been a stir in the room, murmurs starting up at the edge until it reached Fleur's curious ears. Being half a foot taller than both her relatives, Fleur had been asked to locate the source which she'd done without trying to be too obvious.

The source had been another Weasley son. The eldest son in fact, Mr. William Weasley. She'd only gotten a glimpse of him before he'd disappeared under a flurry of redheads, presumably the rest of his family. Apparently, though William (Fleur hoped she would never slip up and actually say their given names aloud) was due to inherit the considerable estate and businesses that the senior Mr. Weasley ran, he spent the majority of his time traveling to such far-flung places as Egypt or Albania, in search of cursed treasure to bring back for his father's trading business. He looked the part of a Curse-Breaker too, with his longer than fashionable hair, now neatly tied in a queue behind his neck, his tanned skin and his tall but quietly powerful form.

Not that she'd been looking.

She reached the door to the washroom and stepped through. The voices of the ladies within the freshening up space suddenly stopped and Fleur felt a little bewildered as her eyes took in four young ladies crowded around the mirror who had turned to see who'd entered. Apparently, she wasn't who they had been gossiping about and they returned to their idle chatter, albeit in quieter tones.

Shrugging, Fleur used the ladies' room. This was another thing she didn't like about London society. The gossip and the back-stabbing. If you somehow didn't make it into the inner circles in your first year out as a debutante, then you basically had no chance of ever making it. One had to be very pretty, very rich or very cunning to do so and Fleur wasn't any of those. Not that she was dumb, but she wasn't willing to expend so much energy belittling those around her.

Now that she wasn't in the same room, it seemed that the girls felt secure enough to speak at a normal volume and Fleur couldn't help but overhear what they were saying.

"—is having a love affair with the prima ballerina! I heard he even brought her to Egypt with him once!"

A slightly nasally voice cut in. "Well _I _heard that it isn't the prima ballerina but the opera singer, Francesca Divine, who is his current mistress. I've heard that he's had at least ten mistresses!"

Gasps abounded in the small anteroom. Fleur rolled her eyes. Who cared who was having an affair with whom? How would that even be useful information?

A quiet voice spoke over the titterings of the other girls. "Mr. William Weasley is an absolute gentleman. I don't think we should be talking about him this way." Fleur felt her eyebrows raise at the girl's gumption to stand up to the rest of the crows.

"What do you know? Your nose is always in a book! I'm surprised you even know which Mr. Weasley we're talking about, you bluestocking!" Fleur winced at the nasally voice's rude tone. She couldn't hear the reply of the quiet voice.

Finished, Fleur took her time arranging her dress so she wouldn't have to step into that nest of pecking birds. Finally stepping out, she found that the girls had left, leaving one solitary girl in front of the mirror, surreptitiously trying to dry her eyes.

The girl was around Gabi's age, though unfortunately had none of her beauty. Her hair was plain brown and it looked as if her maid had half-heartedly attempted to put some order to the bushy curls. Her dress was honestly an awful color for her hair and skin, a pale yellow that made her look sallow rather than glowing with youth.

Fleur rustled her dress as she approached the sinks so that the younger woman would know she wasn't alone. Quickly, the younger girl dropped her handkerchief and straightened up, turning on a sink. Fleur washed her own hands in silence before meeting the girl's furtive glances in the mirror.

She smiled kindly. "I'm Fleur Delacour."

The girl glanced shyly away, drying her hands. She then faced the taller girl. "I'm Hermione Granger."

Fleur nodded in acknowledgement, noting that some part of the girl's coiffure had fallen. Taking out her wand, she helped charm the hair back into place, silently giving it some extra holding value, a skill her mother had imparted to her at an early age. Hermione blushed and held a hand up to her hair. "Oh, my hair is always falling apart. It's quite useless sometimes."

"I heard you stand up to the cro—those girls. I thought that was rather decent of you."

Hermione smiled, showing some rather unfortunate large front teeth. Fleur tried not to let the sympathy show on her face. "Thank you. Mr. Weasley is rather a nice gentleman. I'm friends with his sister, Ginny, and he's always been nice to me when I've been visiting. I hate how those ladies talk down at people."

Fleur turned to the mirror to take in her own appearance, noting that her eyes seem to have stopped watering now that she wasn't focused on her poor prospective future. "Who was that girl who interrupted you?" It wouldn't be polite to say "nasally" though she had to restrain herself from doing so.

"Oh, that was Pansy Parkinson. She's never liked me since our school days for some reason. I don't even know why I was a part of the conversation," Hermione sighed. "My mother wants me to be more involved in society as it's my first year out, but, honestly, I'd rather be at home reading."

"I share your sentiments," Fleur said, smiling at Hermione who smiled back.

The door opened, the music from the hired quartet swarming in behind the matron who entered the washroom. Reminded of her upcoming dance with Mr. Charles Weasley, Fleur excused herself from her new friend and headed back out into the stifling heat of the ballroom.

"There you are!" her mother exclaimed as Fleur approached. The older woman's face was flush with excitement, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, there's been some wonderful news!"

Catching a bit of her mother's enthusiasm, Fleur caught her hand. "What is it?"

Her mother indicated the dance floor. "Look who your sister's dancing with! Oh, this is even more than I could have hoped for! He's bound to fall in love with her!"

Thinking it must be some princely man indeed to have garnered such attention from her mother, Fleur looked about the dance floor to catch sight of her sister's blonde curls. She spotted her dancing, getting a glimpse of the top of his ginger-head before he moved out of her line of vision. She was slightly confused as her mother hadn't been this excited when Mr. Charles Weasley had first asked for the dance. "Mr. Weasley? But I—"

Her mother hushed her with a small flap of her hands. "It's Mr. _William _Weasley! Mr. Charles Weasley came by to offer his apologies as he had a rush matter to attend to for his family but that he would not leave you and Gabi without a dance partner for the two sets he promised and so had his elder brother there to take his place. Imagine if he falls in love with her, Fleur, she would be so well off! Such success for her first year!"

She could see her mother was in the throes of ecstasy and didn't really need any reassurance to the very obvious future Apolline was planning. She patted her mother lovingly on the arm to watch her sister and Mr. Weasley. He towered over her petite sister whenever the steps of the dance brought them within speaking distance. Her sister's eyes were bright but not with any unusual spark in them. His own hooded gaze seemed very serious, as if he was assessing Gabi rather than just dancing.

She didn't like that look. The snippets of gossip she'd overheard from the washing room filtered back to mind. She wasn't one to put credence to rumors but if he really was just a rake, she didn't want her little sister to marry a man like that. A man who wouldn't put Gabi first. She deserved more.

The dance ended and Mr. William Weasley escorted Gabi back to where Fleur and Apolline stood. Fleur observed Gabi's flushed face and hoped that it was just due to the heat of the ballroom and not because of anything inappropriate Mr. Weasley had said. As they made it to where they were standing, Apolline took it upon herself to make the introductions. Fleur nodded politely.

Mr. Weasley bowed slightly over her hand. "Miss Delacour, I believe this next dance is mine?" His voice was a low and pleasant timbre, bringing to mind her father's cigars and the comfort of old books. She mentally shook the comparison off and let herself be led to the dance floor. It was just another tool to this rake's ensemble.

His hand lightly touched her waist and she jumped at the contact, her eyes flying to his. Green. His eyes were a deep green, fringed with long, golden lashes. His look was curious at her skittishness. "It's a waltz, Miss Delacour. You know the steps, I suppose?"

Fleur felt blood rush to her face in embarrassment. "Yes, I know the waltz," her voice was slightly unpleasant, not liking the fact that he seemed to think her an imbecile. While his eyebrows rose a touch, he didn't comment on her acerbity as he started to move them in time to the music. He kept his touch light while she maintained a stiff posture.

After the one glance in the beginning, Fleur refused to look at him again, keeping her gaze somewhere near his right ear. It was unusual for her to feel petite in comparison to her dance partner, most men either meeting her taller height or just falling short of it. She tried not to enjoy the novelty of it, though there was that slight feeling of femininity at the back of her mind.

"Are you always this quiet?" His voice cut into her thoughts, amusement laced in his tone.

Her eyes flashed back to his. She refused to acknowledge the beauty of his eye color. His nose was quiet straight, his face angular but strong-jawed, his mouth drawn up in a slightly amused look.

"Are you always this rude?" she shot back, before biting down on her tongue. Why couldn't she think before she spoke?

The amusement in his eyes deepened to mischief and she had to remind herself that she was dealing with a rake, an experienced charmer and to not let herself get swayed by his obvious use of his physical features.

"Yes," he answered, as the music came to an end.

Silently fuming at his rudeness, she barely held back the urge to yank her hand out of his hold as he led her back to her family. Apolline was all smiles while Gabi was all politeness, no obvious favor in her face. Mr. Weasley bowed over Fleur's hand, thanking her for the dance. Fleur, still put out by his lack of tact and his rakish attempts at flirting, nodded, not looking at him, missing the amused smile that once again crossed his face before he took his leave of her.

But it was a look not missed by Apolline Delacour, surprised at the possibilities she'd thought had been closed off for her eldest daughter.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**This chapter turned out longer than I expected! I don't expect to be above 7 chapters as I want to keep the stories relatively short but not too short. I still have my other Harry Potter WIP "Bend or Break" I need to get wrapped up. (Not to mention my other WIPs in other fandoms!)**

**I'm trying not to make this exactly like Julia Quinn's Bridgerton series so bear with me. Also, ages of all the Harry Potter characters have been re-worked to my satisfaction though I did try to keep all the Weasleys age differences the same.**

**As always, feedback is very appreciated!**


	3. In Which Bill and Fleur Make a Decision

"**In Which Bill and Fleur Make a Decision—Separately"**

*.*

_One would be hard-pressed to miss the fact that Mr. William Weasley has returned to London. He was seen at the Mrs. Weasley's Spring Ball and then several more times at various locations, not the least of which was on the streets of Diagon Alley, a prime location to avoid for a man who wants to retain his Bachelor status. _

_Unless Mr. Weasley wishes to rid himself of such a condition?_

_Watch out, ladies!_

_Mrs. Harriet Hortescue's Societal Observations_ in the daily edition of _The Prophet_

*.*

"I'm surprised that you're in town during the Season, Bill," Molly Weasley remarked as she sat back with her cup of hot tea. She and her eldest son were in the family sitting room, finally having a chance to sit down with each other after Bill's rather surprising return to the country. Molly had been sure that her eldest would not be back until the end of the summer, when the London Season was at its tail end.

Despite the primarily feminine décor with the floral patterned settee and chairs, the pale blue walls and curtains echoing the overall sky color, Bill felt at ease. After all, he'd grown up within this room, along with the 20 or so rooms of the mansion on St. Hampton's Court. Here, he'd come running into his mother to cry about the loss of his favorite stuffed dragon. Here, he and his brothers had been the subject of countless lectures from a loving but stern mother.

The same loving and stern mother who gazed at him with a very perceptive look. Bill restrained himself from shifting in his seat. He'd faced down dark curses, man-eating scarabs and poisonous traps in hidden vaults and yet still found himself slightly unease when his mother turned her knowing eye on him.

All seven of them, no matter how much older and wiser they all though they were, could never hold up against that look. Molly Weasley had produced far too many children to be fooled by them. His siblings numbered six: five brothers and a sister who was the youngest of them at seventeen. As he'd grown up and his parents had kept on procreating, he'd had to restrain his eye rolls at their prolificness. It wasn't a subject he wanted to venture near but one that couldn't really be ignored with the increasing number of annoying siblings. Though they had gotten less annoying as they'd grown up. A little.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward to take a sip of his tea. "I just wanted to visit my family, especially my wonderful mum," he said, a charming smile appearing on his lips.

Molly's face softened at his statement. Damn her children for learning to be charismatic. Not to be thrown totally off course, she opened her mouth to get a straight answer from him when she was interrupted by the arrival of another son.

"Mum! Bill!" Charlie greeted them from the doorway. His eyes lit up when he noticed the biscuits and tea on the table between the two sitting. He made a bee-line for the food, his fingers hovering over the tray for a moment before picking up a chocolate biscuit and biting into it. "I thought I'd—"

"Charles Weasley!" Molly's voice cut across his.

Charlie's eyes widened before he took a moment to swallow the food that had been in his mouth and started again. "I thought I'd find you over here, Bill." His half eaten biscuit waved in the general vicinity of his brother as he took a seat next to his mother on the couch.

Grateful for the save from his mother's interrogation, Bill grabbed onto this change in topic like a lifeline. He didn't miss the look his mother threw at him. She wasn't done with him yet.

"What for?" he asked.

A small knock at the door prevented Charlie from answering. All three redheads glanced at the house elf in the doorway. "Mistress? Modiste here for you," Tella announced, giving an affectionate smile to the two men. She'd been with their family for as long as Bill could remember and had helped them out of more than a few scrapes.

"Oh! I'd almost forgotten! Get Ginny for me will you? I will be in the drawing room with Madam Malkin." Molly excused herself from her sons and headed downstairs to meet the dressmaker.

Standing up, Bill closed the door, his shoulders slumping in relief. He'd be able to get out of the house without his mother continuing on her interrogation of his motives. He wasn't yet ready to reveal them to her because then he'd know no peace and would have to go along with whatever she planned. It wasn't that he didn't love or respect his mother, he just wanted to go about this endeavor his own way.

He turned to his brother who was staring at him curiously as he munched on another biscuit. It was a good thing that their family was rich, otherwise Charlie could've eaten them out of a house and home.

"What was that all about?" Charlie asked, mouth full again but Bill didn't bother to correct him.

"What?" Bill pretended not to know what he was talking about. Partly to annoy Charlie and partly for the same reason that he'd been glad his mother had been called away.

His brother's left eyebrow rose. "You know. She was giving you the Piercing Stare."

Bill sat back down and watched Charlie finish off the biscuit in his hand, thinking. Maybe it would be good to at least tell someone in his family. Charlie was the brother he was closest to, being four years apart in age. Plus, he'd been in town longer than Bill and might have needed information in the task that Bill was setting himself to.

Taking a deep breath, he jumped in. "I'm getting married."

Charlie choked on his third biscuit (really, the man could show some restraint).

Bill got to his feet and made it over to his brother, slapping him heartily on the back. Once Charlie had regained his ability to breath normally, Bill sat back down. "Is it really that surprising?" he asked.

Charlie poured himself some tea and took two long sips before setting it back down and breathing in deeply. "Bill. You've made sure to be on one of these treasure hunts for every single Season for the past ten years. You've avoided every large party that Mum's thrown that doesn't involved one of our birthdays because you know that she would throw every eligible daughter into your path. You've _outright_ _stated_ that you were avoiding marriage for as long as I can remember. And now you're _getting_ married? To whom? Why won't you tell Mum?" The questions started pouring out of his mouth.

Bill held up a restraining hand. "I haven't even asked the bride yet, so how am I supposed to our mother who will just get overly excited and tell the whole of the Wizarding world and probably some of the Muggle world, too?"

Charlie stared at his older brother in confusion. "Wait. So you're telling me that you're getting married but the girl doesn't even know it yet? What's the big rush on this?"

He looked at his brother, noting both the similarities and the differences between them. While they were both in possession of the famous Weasley red hair, Charlie had taken after their father in getting blue eyes and a shorter hair. Charlie, who was more taken with studying dragons and other magical animals, didn't have the hardened edge that Bill had acquired in his work as a Curse-breaker. He'd had to hone his instincts to a fine edge so he could always keep one step ahead of any latent curses that laid over buried treasure.

His brother also did not have an expiration date on his life.

In the years since Babbling Belinda had made her chilling prophecy to him, he'd gone through phases of utterly believing in what she had said to scoffing and writing her off as crazy. Except, even in those moments, he couldn't totally shrug her off. He'd stayed away from roses, both in the gardens at the Burrow and in any bouquets he would give the ladies he was involved with. As the years passed and his thirtieth year approached, he'd resigned himself to his fate.

At eight and twenty, he was just at the age to get married and start his own family. While he had five other brothers who could inherit the Weasley estates, he knew his father wanted to continue the tradition of passing the duties and responsibilities of being a Weasley patriarch to the eldest Weasley son. And while he expressed exasperation and frustration at times at what was expected of him, Bill would never dishonor his family, especially his father, by not taking care of them. So before his time on this earth was up, he was going to marry and he was going to produce an heir. He would do it for his family.

But none of this would he impart to his brother. No one in his family even knew about Babbling Belinda and neither had Bill seen hide nor hair of her since that significant moment in Diagon Alley. There was no need to have them have this black cloud over their head when there was nothing to really be done with it.

Because he wouldn't say anything, Bill just shrugged. "I just felt like now was a good time as any." Not wanting to stay on that same line of thought, Bill said, "Like I said, I think I've found the perfect girl: Gabrielle Delacour."

Charlie's eyebrows rose and he let out a low whistle. "That's aiming pretty high, Bill. She's got some Veela blood." Bill gave him a look and Charlie's hands came up in mock surrender. "Yeah, yeah. You're the great William Weasley. 'Watch out, ladies!'" Charlie made a sweep with his arm, as if indicating a headline, chuckling.

Bill sighed. That Harriet Hortescue gossip column was not worth the effort in reading it, yet so many of the ton were addicted to it. It didn't help that whoever the infernal woman (or even man) was had created such a scandal when she'd first started reporting. Unlike previous gossip columnists, Mrs. Hortescue had no qualms about putting full names in the papers. It was an infamous honor to be so mentioned by her. Lately, she seemed to be obsessed with his marital status. A fact which wasn't helping Bill trying to keep his actions on the discreet.

Brushing aside his brother's comment and laughter, Bill stood up. "I'm very well not going to marry someone I can't even bed. Besides, when I danced with her in your stead a few nights ago, she was pleasant to talk to and seemed to have more than clouds in her head. I could at least like her."

But not love her.

That was the one condition Bill placed upon getting married before his time was up. He would need to marry someone he could not fall in love with. It was going to be hard enough to leave his large family whom he all loved well, but to add a wife who was supposed to be his life-long partner and mother to his children that he was also desperately in love with? That would just be cruel.

He watched as his brother nodded in response before helping himself to another biscuit.

Gabrielle Delacour was perfect. Except for the fact that her sister was a bit of a shrew.

*.*

"You are not going to marry William Weasley."

Gabi ignored her sister's pronouncement as she buried her nose into the fragrant pink and purple peonies that had just arrived for her. They were really quite lovely and a fresh burst of color from the red and white roses that had arrived in a nearly endless stream for Gabi following her debut at the Weasley ball. But Fleur was not going to have her sister marry a rake, seemingly one of the worst kind if she was going to listen to Miss Parkinson's gossip, which she wasn't really. Really.

"I'm serious, Gabrielle." Using her sister's full name always meant business in Fleur's mind. And apparently in Gabi's as well as she lifted her nose from the flowers.

"Why? He was perfectly nice when I danced with him the other night."

Fleur crossed her arms, a small frown appearing on her face. She restrained the urge to sigh. Her sister was so innocent and young and she didn't want to be the one to expose her to her to the baser urges of men. Though it would only be for her own good.

She looked around the small foyer of the townhouse they were staying in. The house had a used feel to it, having seen many families come and go in its time, she supposed. While the walls and floors, the carpets and furniture all had an almost worn edge to it, the house was at least clean and easy to keep up with just one maid and a cook.

"He's a—I just don't think he's—well, Gabi, he's—"

"A rake? A charmer? A man of many paramours?" Gabi cut across her sister's stumbling explanation, blue eyes twinkling at the shock on Fleur's face. "I'm not a child, Fleur. I also have ears." She wiggled them, an action which never failed to get Fleur smiling. It was such an unusual talent and one that Apolline abhorred yet also found charming though she did ask that her youngest not display such a skill in public.

"Well, yes. All of the above. You deserve having a man who will be loyal only to you." Her hand came out to tuck a blonde curl back up into her sister's hair.

Gabi gave a small smile at the affection in her sister's tone before turning back to arrange the flowers a little better. "I know. But I can't be too picky. I've also got to marry rich for you and Maman."

It was said with no resentment yet it sent guilt tripping through Fleur. She moved to take her sister into her arms, blinking back emotion. "Oh, Gabi. You don't have to worry about us. You know we'll be able to take care of ourselves."

Gabi moved back to meet her sister's eyes. "But you've both been so worried about the money and doing so much to make sure we can keep alive, that I wanted to take that burden away from you. And it would be so easy, just having to marry someone who had money," she whispered, failing to hide the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

Fleur's hand came up to wipe the stray tear that had fallen down her sister's cheek. "You marry whoever you want, rich or poor, just so long as you'll be happy with him. That's what matters most for us."

"I know," Gabi sniffed, before a mischievous grin appeared on her face. "Mr. Weasley is very good-looking _and _ rich, so it wouldn't hurt for me to get to know him better, right?"

Fleur nodded. There wasn't any actual harm in at least finding out more about Mr. Weasley. A determined gleam entered her eyes. She would watch out for the least bit of ungentlemanly behavior and at any smidgen of that towards her sister, Fleur would get him out of Gabi's life. He could count on it.


	4. In Which an Accident and Feelings Occur

"**In Which an Accident and Feelings Occur"**

_There was quite a commotion in Huntington Park yesterday involving the Misses Delacour, Mr. Neville Longbottom and one Mr. Weasley—Mr. William Weasley, to be precise. While this Author was not fortunate enough to witness the spectacle, she did learn that it started with a Yorkshire terrier and ended in the lake. _

_The dog appeared the victor. _

- _Mrs. Harriet Hortescue's Societal Observations_ in the daily edition of _The Prophet_

*.*

The sharp yipping was starting to grate on her nerves.

"Winston! Get over here!" Fleur knew that her voice was reaching an unbecomingly high pitch but at this point, she didn't really care as she hoped that it would resonate in the small terrier's ears. Her earlier attempts to get the dog to heel had failed and she was resorting to the less softer arts to leash her mother's pet.

Why her mother insisted on having such a small and relatively useless pup around was beyond Fleur's practicality. However, he'd been in the family since before her father's death and though they'd gone through some very tough times, she wasn't about to suggest to her mother that they sell him. Not that the thought hadn't crossed her mind. Several times.

Standing in the doorway to the downstairs sitting room to the left of the foyer, Fleur hoped to block any escape for the Yorkshire terrier. Winston crouched in front of the fireplace, his black eyes assessing his odds of escape, a tiny growl issuing from his caramel colored body. The dog truly felt he was the size of an Irish wolfhound with the heart of a German shepherd. Fleur would be smiling if she wasn't so annoyed with him. Her mum had asked her to walk Winston before the evening's activities and so Fleur had spent the better part of the past half hour trying to wrangle him onto his leash.

Fleur took a menacing step forward, her eyes never leaving Winston. He yapped at her before charging forward, a fatal tactical error on his part as she leapt on his small form and succeeded in attaching the leash to his collar.

"Yes!" she crowed, keeping a tight rein on him as he futilely attempted to shake off her hold.

"Impressive," said a deep, dry voice behind her.

Fleur straightened with a sudden force that she effectively shocked the small dog into momentary stillness with the sharp tug to his leash as she turned to face the intruder in the doorway.

Mr. William Weasley. Of course. Fleur just managed not to roll her eyes at the inevitability of the universe's ironies.

The white cap of the Delacour maid visible behind his shoulder was the only evidence of how he'd gotten into the house. Fleur leaned around Mr. Weasley who shifted so she could address the maid.

"Suzanne, could you get my mother?" She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice. It wasn't the maid's fault that she had been making so much noise so close to the front door that she'd missed the arrival of their guest. Though really, Mr. Weasley could've waited a bit more in the foyer and pretended not to see her in such an improper activity. It would've been the gentlemanly thing to do. She mentally huffed. It just proved even more how much of a rake he was and how mismatched he would be with Gabi.

Suzanne hesitated only a moment before bobbing in the doorway, softly saying, "I'll fetch your mother, miss," and heading upstairs. Fleur was old enough that being left unchaperoned for a few minutes wouldn't be disastrous. Still, it stung just a little bit that she was relegated in the category of "too old to be worried about."

With Suzanne upstairs, this left Fleur standing in an awkward silence with Mr. Weasley and a hyper dog whose huffing was currently the only sound in the room. Mr. Weasley was ignoring the dog however and instead was looking at her with those green eyes. This was somewhat rude but Fleur was surprised to note that irritation wasn't the only thing she was feeling. Fleur pushed the thought aside and struggled to remember her manners.

"Mr. Weasley," she said, bowing her head slightly as she curtsied.

"Miss Delacour," he returned, dipping a bit at the waist.

Pleasantries aside, they were back to where they were only moments before. There was something about William Weasley that put Fleur on edge, something that she couldn't put a name to. Maybe it was the gossip she'd overheard; maybe it was the aura of arrogance and power he wore casually around him like a cloak. Or the way his hair was a touch too long for society's standards and that he wore a fang earring. Or maybe it was the way his green eyes watched her with no faintest sense of propriety, an amused smile lingering on his sculpted mouth. The corners of that mouth turned up even more.

At which point, Fleur realized she was staring.

Mortified, Fleur tore her gaze away from that mouth and bent down, ostensibly to fix Winston's collar as she willed the blush to fade away from her cheeks. Silently she cursed her pale coloring.

"That's a rather…fine dog you have, Miss Delacour." She didn't miss the inflection in Mr. Weasley's tone. For some reason, this made her feel defensive over the little terrier, completely pushing aside her earlier diabolical plans for the poor thing.

Straightening again, she pasted on a polite smile as she smoothed down her powder blue skirt. She knew that her cheeks still had a tinge of pink in them but she hoped that it could be put down to her natural skin tone. Though, judging by the glint in Mr. Weasley's eyes, he wasn't buying it.

"Winston _is_ a fine dog. He's quite well-behaved. For a male." Fleur bit the inside of her cheek and mentally groaned. _Why _did she just say that?

Mr. Weasley gave a bark of laughter, taken by surprise at the biting comment. A grin lingered on his lips as he stepped further into the room to look down at Winston, putting him just a touch away from an improper distance from Fleur. "He doesn't seem too well-behaved right now." Mischief threaded through his words.

Ignoring the sensation that ran through her at his nearness and his low voice, she glanced down to find that Winston had managed to tangle himself around one of the room's chairs and struggling mightily to untangle himself.

"Winston!" she admonished, sinking down once more to handle the troublesome dog, missing the fact that Mr. Weasley had taken it upon himself to do the gentlemanly thing and attempt to disentangle the dog. Their shoulders bumped as they bent down and her bare hands brushed his larger warm ones, causing a hot tingle to run through her fingers and a rush of air to pass through her lips before she could stop it. Flustered, she stood up quickly, distancing herself as he proceeded to unwrap the dog from the chair. She let go of the leash in the process of him doing so, too occupied by her reactions to him to be concerned over it.

What was happening to herself? Was it _him_? Is this what women felt when they fell prey to his charms? Angry at herself for acting like a young school girl instead of a full-grown woman, she unfairly turned her irritation to the dog, who was occupied with sniffing at the boots of Mr. Weasley.

"That will be enough of that, Winston," she said sharply with a slight tug on his leash. Reluctantly, the terrier relinquished his task of shining Mr. Weasley's toe with his wet nose and turned his dark gaze up to the irritated girl. His wasn't the only look that Fleur could feel upon her.

Her eyes moved up from the dog, almost on their own volition to meet Mr. Weasley's. She felt her mouth open—to say something, to sigh—she never really knew as her mother's voice lightly cut whatever shivering thread had started to twine itself between them

"Mr. Weasley! How unexpected yet delightful it is to have you come calling." Her mother's bright eyes and smiling face entered the sitting room. After the slightest of hesitations, Mr. Weasley's eyes cut away from Fleur's as he turned to greet her mother with a polish that he'd certainly not bothered to exhibit with her.

"Madame Delacour, the pleasure is all mine," he murmured as he took Apolline's proffered hand. The older woman smiled in response.

"To what do we owe this visit?" She asked, moving into the room as he let go of her hand. Taking a seat, she gestured for Mr. Weasley and Fleur to do the same. Fleur hesitated, intending to take the dog out now that she'd gotten him on his leash as well as being reluctant to remain in proximity to the disturbing man. Mr. Weasley noted her hesitation and did not move to sit. Her mother raised a slight eyebrow at her, silently willing her to be nice.

Holding back an unladylike eye roll, Fleur gingerly moved to take a seat on one of the chairs, holding herself on the edge and ready to jump up once released. Amusement evident on his face, Mr. Weasley slowly took his own seat on a chair across from hers. With one glance at Fleur, he turned his full attention to her mother.

"I wanted to call upon you and your lovely daughters." Apolline gave an acknowledging nod to his compliment. "I also wanted to see if I would be able to take Miss Gabrielle on a drive this afternoon."

Fleur tried not to flinch, but she must've given away some movement as he slid his eyes to her. Her mother either didn't notice or ignored her.

Mrs. Delacour clapped her hands together. "Oh, I'm sure Gabrielle would enjoy that!" Her smile faded a bit as she recalled where her daughter was. "Except, she is out with Mr. Longbottom at the moment. I don't expect her to be back for another hour or so."

Fleur couldn't help raising her eyebrows at Mr. Weasley in unmistakable challenge. _What are you going to do with _that, _Mr. Weasley?_

Unfortunately, he caught the look and returned it with one of his own. A slight smile curved his appallingly perfect lips as he spoke to her mother. "I suppose, then, that I will just have to pass the time in your lovely company."

Her mother giggled. _Giggled! _Fleur's jaw dropped slightly before she could stop herself. Apolline ignored her.

"No, I can't have you do that, Mr. Weasley! You'd be bored within the quarter hour." Apolline glanced at Winston and the leash attaching him to Fleur. A light entered her eyes as an idea formed. "Why don't you go with Fleur as she walks Winston and perhaps you'll come across Gabi and Mr. Longbottom?"

Fleur's eyes widened at this neat maneuver. What was her mother trying to do?

Mr. Weasley glanced sidelong at Fleur as that mischievous smile graced his face once more. "I would love to."

*.*

They had been walking for a number of minutes, the silence between them not quite awkward but not comfortable either. Bill had kept his eyes focused on the dog who pulled as much as possible on the leash and on the street around them. The rows of houses passed sedately by, the sky clear and a slight breeze kicking up here and there. For some reason, he felt it necessary to not look at the prickly Miss Delacour at his side. He thought it was due to self preservation (the woman might chop him if he looked at her wrong). There was a small part of him that suspected it was a different sort of self preservation than the physical kind. He ignored this.

"I won't have you pursuing my sister, you know."

This less than surprising statement momentarily stopped him in his tracks before he continued on down Miller Street. Ever since he'd met her at the ball, she'd been unlike any other debutante he'd dealt with: bold where others were demure, frank where others shied from the truth and not the least bit concerned with her appearance. So for her to come out and declare such a thing, wasn't surprising. Though it was a bit rude.

He noticed a faint blush rising on the part he could see of her face underneath her hat as the silence stretched on. Ah, so she wasn't completely immune to the niceties of society.

"What makes you think you have the power to stop me?" This earned him a cutting glance from her gray eyes. He had to admit, that while the girl wasn't necessarily the most stunning creature, she had certain features that were pleasant. Quite pleasant. He mentally shook himself as he followed his original train of thought. "I mean, you're not your sister nor are you her parent with a say-so on who might choose to court her."

They paused as Winston found an interesting bush on the sidewalk and investigated it. She looked down at the dog before tilting her head up a little to address his question. "Maybe I don't have the power to stop _you, _but my sister does hold my opinion in high regard as she knows that I will look out for her. She has stated more than once that she won't marry a man I don't like."

"Ah, so the way to your sister's heart and hand in marriage lies through you?"

That blush graced her cheeks again at the sarcasm in his tone. Or maybe it wasn't a blush but the flush of anger. Either way, it made her look more appealing. _No! Not appealing, just…nice. Yes. Nice._

"Not per se," she hedged, glancing at the small dog as he started rooting at the ground before meeting his eyes once more. She wasn't one to back down. "Just that, she respects me as the eldest. For so long it's just been my mother, my sister and I. I guess I've tended to become protective of them." She gave a slight shrug and then visibly realized that she'd said a little to much to a man that she had plainly disliked from the moment they'd met.

Hey eyes held a trace of embarrassment at them. Maybe a moment ago he would've taken advantage of that to tease her and get her back up but her statement of being protective of her family rang true with him. It was something he understood, this need to ensure the best survival of those one loved best. It was the burden of the eldest child and it was good to share this feeling with someone.

He smiled into her clear, gray gaze, cataloguing at the back of his mind that her eyes also held a ring of blue at the edge. "Why is it that you hate me so?" he softly asked.

Her eyes widened at his forward question. "I don't hate you," the words were out of her mouth without a thought, "I just don't think I can like you." Winston started walking again, pulling her along.

He let the silence stretch for a minute as they neared the edge of Huntington Park where there were a few people scattered about enjoying the clear day. "And why is that?"

She stopped to look at him, ignoring the small terrier as he strained to move forward to the cluster of trees just meters away. "You're a rake. They make the worst sort of husband," she said matter-of-factly.

"I suppose you know a lot on this subject?"

Her chin tilted up in defiance. "I know enough to know that you would hurt my sister if you married her and continued on with your roguish activities."

He deliberately dropped his voice and moved closer to her. She tilted her head up, refusing to give an inch. He admired her boldness at the same time he began to feel the prickles of annoyance at her presumptions. "And where, might I ask, did you hear of my 'roguish activities?'"

"One hears a lot of things at different events," she said in a decidedly affected air. "In fact—"

Her words cut off as the sprightly spring breeze chose that precise moment to tug at her hat which had only been loosely tied under her chin. Her hands flew up to catch it but missed. Bill had automatically reached for it himself, being right there and he did get it before it hit the ground.

However this put him in extremely close proximity to Miss Delacour, one arm practically around her and his face almost level with hers. His breath caught as they gazed into each others' eyes. He noticed the fine wings of her light blonde eyebrows, how her nose was pert, her lips were full and that the color rising on her cheeks was definitely not of anger and he was going to do something just then that would have been supremely stupid given their very public location when Winston gave a high-pitched bark and bounded off towards the copse of trees he'd been attempting to pursue for the past several minutes.

The moment (whatever _that _moment had been) was lost and Miss Delacour was after the damned dog, yelling "Winston!" in a very unladylike manner at a very unladylike run.

Momentary shock held Bill in place until he realized that the only course of action for him at this point was to follow at a decidedly ungentlemanly run. He ignored the amused and astonished faces of the other people he passed, focused on reining in this woman who didn't seem to know what propriety and social dictates meant.

Breaking through the line of trees, he saw the light blue figure of Miss Delacour, the caramel colored body of the terrier as he ran directly for the lake where a curricle was parked and a woman who looked similar to the Miss Delacour he was chasing standing with a chap whom Bill could identify as Neville Longbottom at this distance with the awkward stance the man seemed to always have. He could also see the imminent disaster as the pup headed straight for Miss Gabrielle Delacour who turned in surprise at the yapping and the entourage Winston had seen fit to have. She had no time to prepare as the dog leapt into her arms, and Newton's second law of motion was fully realized.

He closed his eyes as the girl dropped into the shallow end of the lake, Neville's arms uselessly stretched to catch her and Fleur Delacour wading in after her.

He was going to _kill_ that dog. But only after he killed Fleur.

* * *

**Author's note: Hey! Look a chapter! I made it longer due to the long wait. Hopefully you enjoyed this and will enjoy the rest of the story. **


End file.
